


How Echo Earned Both Sentience And A Name

by LordStarling



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:48:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordStarling/pseuds/LordStarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was going to write a short paragraph from the point of view of my fanbot character, but I got a bit carried away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Echo Earned Both Sentience And A Name

I wasn't designed for the purpose of intelligence. For years after production, I was EC-137-HO, just EC-137-HO, nothing more than an Electronic Chassis designed and created after one hundred and thirty seven test products and creative failures, then fitted for 'Harmonic Ordnance,' a weapon's system designed to break through walls and blockages using sonic blasts and vibrations.

I remember the day, of course, and everything leading up to it, filed and compressed into my memory banks. So odd to recall a time without thought. And such a small turning point: a fairly ordinary day in camp, marked only by a small hitch in the knee joint of my left leg. It was one of the soldiers who noticed it, not a mechanic. They were all far too busy in the final days of preparation before our strike to pay attention to an already outfitted piece of machinery wandering the camp in case it was required for heavy lifting somewhere. The soldiers were all restless and bored. Some played cards to avert their minds, some shone shoes or worked on patching their ripped clothes. The human who beckoned to me had just finished repairing one of the jeeps, and was sitting cross legged on a log beside it, trails of cigarette smoke lingering in the close air. Both the soldier and the gesture were identified, matched, analysed. He was Paul Weather, and the small crook of his finger was an order to approach and await command. He indicated the malfunctioning joint. 'Your leg's broken.' A monotonous reply was issued from my left palm speaker. A simulation identical to many computers without intelligence or voices of their own.

'Affirmative.'

'You going to the quacks to get it fixed up?'

'Negative. All scientific and engineering personnel are to be provided with minimal disturbance during the final preparations.' 

'I can figure how it works. Would you like me to fix it up for you?'

'Question not applicable to this model. Please restate or issue a command.'

'Okay, Would it be acceptable for me to repair your malfunction, as the official mechanic people are busy?'

'Affirmative.'

It didn't take long, as only a few adjustments and a little oil were needed to make the joint extend smoothly again. As I returned to my feet, the man patted me on the shoulder, tapping the metal plate with his hand. 'There you go, love.' He collected his tools and moved to inspect the next vehicle as I continued on my path between the tents and supply vans.

A human would say that 'nothing of interest happened for the next few days'. A robot would argue that many notable events occurred over the three day period between the mending of my fault and the implication of our battle plan. However, as these events are not pertinent to this narrative, I shall not include them.

Thursday evening marked our attack.

I raced towards the fortifications of the enemy base, accompanied by soldiers of our company, as bombs and bullets careened around us. My orders were to deliver a concentrated sonic vibration to the third left base column of the wall blocking the wide but essential mountain route. It was well defended. Contrary to many military ideals, I was not given a plan, or a route. Merely a target. They told me to 'hit it here,' the weakest structural point, and turned me loose in a soldier's uniform to complete my purpose. Disguised as a human, they didn't know me for what I was until they got close, and saw their bullets deflect off the metal plating beneath the khaki cloth.

I was fast, and in the third group. The battlefield was well set. Barbed wire laced the flat area between the bend of the road and the Wall. Smoke separated the humans from one another. An opposing soldier charged me from the side, grenade in hand. I ripped out his trachea and tossed the grenade forward, thwarting his futile suicide mission. The fact that he had recognised me indicated a possibility the enemy had been prepared for us. I darted smoothly forward across a clear area, something exploding where I had stood merely seconds before. Don't stop, don't help, don't let anything get in your way, eliminate the target. 

He was fighting twenty metres away, grappling with a larger opponent in the dirt, guns locked together between them.

I moved to the next 'safe' area, scanning for a clear path. An alert flashed for damage. Merely a broken tail plate. Nothing critical. I ran a quick diagnostic on the repaired knee at the same time, finding that the stress of the battlefield had caused no damage. If the knee had not been repaired, there was a 85% chance that the explosion I had narrowly avoided would have destroyed me due to my inability to move quickly. 

A strange pattern of impulses flashed across my electronic 'brain' like a misfire. I raced to more cover.

Had my leg not been repaired, there would have been a 15% chance of termination. Humans would say death. I perceived an odd sensation as I realised the word could not apply to me. I shot down two soldiers as they blocked my path.

The human who had likely prevented this was being damaged, pinned to the ground by a soldier merely ten metres away. Likely to be subject to termination- death, in a matter of minutes. What an odd statistic.

The flashes in my circuits reoccurred, sparking an irregular pattern which had previously not existed. I sheltered from several storms of bullets and grenades beside a rusted sheet of metal. I was no longer so aware of tense, the repairs Paul Weather had worked seemed past, present, future- something to not interfere with although it had already ceased to happen. A bullet shot through the brim of my hat. The enemy soldier hit my mechanic human in the face, reaching to separate their guns. 

I did then what I had never considered, never realised as a possibility for anything created by man.

I rewrote my orders.

The primary target became secondary, replaced in my mind by an urgently flashing initiative. 

WARNING: IMMINENT TERMINATION OF PROTECTED MARK

I dropped to hands and feet as the soldier extracted his rifle, winding gears tight as he rose to his knees and held the target down, sprang as he aimed it, and sailed through the smoke like a projectile weapon, heavy metal crashing into his side before he pulled the trigger. His ribs splintered beneath my weight as we hit the ground, skull fracturing as it crashed to the ground. I rebounded and turned, assessing his victim for damage. Only minimal wounds were apparent, although he stared at me with such fear and shock that I thought perhaps he had seen a grenade falling towards us. 

It wasn't a grenade. Every one of my harmonic weapons had somehow been activated during my deviation of target, lighting up in an indication of attack, and emitting a rumble so low and ominous I feared malfunction might cause them to explode. Not one warning signal had informed me. 

I switched off the devices one by one as I levered a still stunned Paul to his feet behind the shelter of a misplaced tree. 'EC how are you- I- what?' I perceived that to the left, a path had cleared to the original target. Searching my memory banks for an appropriate response, I found the required monotones both inapplicable and... impersonal? I believe I felt unsure, unable to calculate the statistics of responses. It was something I did not know how to respond to. Instead I lightly tapped his shoulder with one hand, replaying through an arm speaker the recording of his voice stored three days ago.

'There you go, love.'

I took off into the smoke and back onto the battlefield, leaving only an echo.


End file.
